


the devil you know

by pixiepuff (colourmecrunchy)



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Accidents, Angst, Coma, Fear, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, do not fret my darlings you know how my brolin always ends ♥
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 03:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourmecrunchy/pseuds/pixiepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accidents happen - even to people who portray nearly invincible, badass characters.<br/>It's not the waiting that does Colin in, no. It's the sheer amount of fear and hope and love he carries inside that he has to come to terms with, when the threat of losing the one thing he doesn't want to live without looms overhead.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>He was afraid. He knew what’s waiting behind those doors. An unmoving, sleeping person, deeply comatose, head half-shaven and heavily bandaged, a constellation of bruises everywhere. Colin knows he’d be a stargazer for life if any pattern of white dots in the night sky would come close to what Bradley is to him. He doesn’t want to squeeze that hand without it squeezing back. He doesn’t want those lips unmoving when he tells him a self-deprecating joke. He doesn’t want the stretch of silence between them because it’s never happened before.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>He doesn’t want it to feel like goodbye.</em></p><p> </p><p>  </p><p>A/N<br/>(i know this isn't rated E, but due to the content it was really impossible to write it like that. you know i love tha porn.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the devil you know

**Author's Note:**

> gigi - a man may write for many things, but this one's just for you

_**day one** _

 

Colin doesn't think he's ever been this level of scared in his life.

 

And it's magnified tenfold because he doesn't dare show it.

Don't get him wrong, he’s not some closed-off, emotionally unstable person, or in want of a better word – a _robot_ with only five most important life functions, no. He _feels_ , and sometimes he feels so much it scares him, but even his worst mental breakdowns couldn’t compare to this.

He reacts, but then again he doesn’t. He sees other scared and worried and distraught faces, and feels like he needs to stay strong for them. He needs to be their shoulder, their wonder wall, their eye of the storm, because he knows everything will go to shit otherwise. They look at him like that, at least.

He wants to resent this. Resent _them_.

Quietly, he thinks _he’s_ the one who should be falling apart in a fit of being overcome, in tears – from  fear of what this all entails. Because while he might be the strong one others need right now, he doesn’t have _his_ pillar here to ground him, and calm him with reassurance. His personal storage of strength (in a rather lovely shape no less) is the one who’s causing all of this in the first place.

He gives the remaining members of the cast one last, encouraging embrace, offering words of strength that roll off his tongue in a sickeningly detached way – a reassurance he doesn’t feel and therefore cannot put into words properly. Once again he’s reminded of his robotic resemblance right now, only that he’s not quite sure what those five basic life functions would be.

 

_Imagination.  Acting.  Ears.  Breathing.   Love._

He knows only the fourth one is the one that actually qualifies as an appropriate life function, but it’s really the last one he’s afraid to even address.

It’s what’s causing this odd closing off, shutters down, straight face stance anyway. Something he doesn’t want to think about, and he’s successfully kind of _not_ thinking about it for a couple of years now, and it’s going quite well, thank you very much. He’s so good at not thinking about it, in fact, that it of course becomes _all_ he’s thinking about, chasing him wherever he goes and whatever he does, slamming into him as he runs into it yet again. He’s not actually sure anymore if it’s him who’s avoiding it or the thoughts that come after him on their own, but it’s still there.

And now he’s not sure how he’s going to continue this, even if he’s feeling quite at home in this strange, desperate recluse.

He tries to shake off the image of Richard when he closes the door of his hotel room on the world outside. Colin thinks he’s fooled everyone, but then Richard looked at him like he knows _exactly_ what Colin’s doing, and it unnerves him. He’s an excellent actor, a first-class pokerface any casino would fear. So how could people know?

When he stands in the room, just shy of the bed and a bit to the left, he wonders for a moment, helpless, _now what_. Honestly, there’s no plan, or agenda, no list of things to do and now that he’s alone, he’s scared shitless that his façade will crumble.

 

He’s not ready for a breakdown yet. After all, things could go either way and the news they got weren’t all bad. They _were_ bad, mind you, but they were also good, and not _irreversible_. At least that’s what the doctor said. Colin freezes for a moment, wondering whether it took one good look at all their faces and see the despair and fear, and add an encouraging afterthought just so they wouldn’t all have an instantaneous freak-out in his hospital.

Another fear springs up inside him, up from the deepest pits of his being, up from a place that he never dares visit because it’s a Pandora’s box of unrevoked presents he’d rather leave wrapped. It’s never a good place, or a happy one, and it always lets a thought or emotion escape its claws when Colin’s at his worst. Trepidation grips him because he realizes he was the only one who-

Actually, he needs to stop dancing around the subject, and pussyfooting like the world’s greatest coward, which he may as well be, because there’s a thin line between idiotic bravery, putting on a fearless face for others, and downright cowardice where hiding behind a grey, expressionless wall feels like the easiest thing to do.

 

Bradley fell off a wall today.

They were shooting, and the scene was going well, and fuck Colin if he even remembers their lines. All he knows is how Bradley’s hair shone like the sun in the afternoon orangey light, how Bradley suddenly stopped in his run and turned because he realized he fucked up his lines and another take will be needed – but the momentum made his body sway in the wrong direction, made him turn just a little too fast, his grin still plastered on his face as he laughed unabashedly at Colin, and he looked so _so_ beautiful, suspended in a moment where everything stood unnaturally still-

right before he tumbled off the low castle wall, looking like an angel who falls, unknowing, still happy and unaware of the impending doom of darkness underneath.

Colin remembers freezing for a moment that could as well last for eons, because as soon as a thud was heard, he felt the breath being knocked out of _him_ , rooting him to the spot, and Colin had no idea when he even closed his eyes.

In the next moment though, he was already moving, running to the other side, down the stairs, steps so swift he outran his own shadow, and everyone else there too, to stop a few paces short from the unconscious body on the ground. He doesn’t remember whose unnatural shriek of something _terrible_ echoed all over the grounds, but he has a sickening feeling it was his own. The image of pale, unmoving, bloody-headed Bradley is burned into his retinas, or maybe to the insides of his lids, ever-mocking him whenever Colin closes his eyes, and it’s enough, this memory and the whole of today following suit, that he dashes to the toilet and heaves as he vomits until he thinks his lungs will collapse.

He wishes he could empty his heart like that, too.

When he’s done heaving he stares at himself in the mirror, and is afraid of what he sees there.

 

Maybe Richard wasn’t the only one to know, after all. Maybe Colin’s overrated himself regarding this, or maybe his mask has only just slipped off now, in the confinement of his own room – either way, he looks stricken, and pale, the light gone out of his eyes and as he realizes he could as well be describing _Bradley_ right now, Colin retches again.

This is exactly what he was afraid of – of falling apart on his own. And he wouldn’t let anyone else seeing him like this, except for maybe Bradley, but Colin’s always thought if such a scene was to happen, it’d be the inevitable reveal of his treacherous emotions finally besting him, and then Bradley letting him down gently, maybe staying behind to deal with the aftermath of a turn-down, making sure the lead actor in the series doesn’t die from something laughable like heartbreak.

He didn’t expect to be so overwhelmingly afraid, an all-encompassing mixture of helplessness and fright and love shaking him to the core, as he pulls his clothes off with uncoordinated moves, his hands shaking as he tries to undo the stupid Merlin clothes. He’s still wearing his costume, refusing to change earlier, just _needingwanting_ to be there lest he misses something, something life-altering and frightening, waving off the costume team and all others, and climbing into the ambulance when only one other besides the paramedics and Bradley was allowed to go straight in.

He pauses, finally managing to extricate himself from the neckerchief, and realizes he might have not been as unreadable or subtle as he thought, as his previous dread of others beliving him to be a rock without compassion engulfs him, and he realizes it isn’t the case at all. They weren’t casting him worried looks because they’d believe he _doesn’t_ care in his catatonic, quiet state.

They were concerned for a whole set of reasons of the _opposite_ nature.

Colin lets out a pained moan, wanting back into the black hole of obliviousness, where everything hurt just as much but at least he thought he was alone in his knowing of truth, and turns the water in the shower on. He climbs in, and lets his limbs be caressed by the warmth that runs down his body. He stands confused, waiting for the feeling to sink in, but he doesn’t feel the temperature of the water at all, once again lost in the image of the pale, pale face, framed by blonde hair and blood and a breath of _Bradley_ ghosts his lips as he slides down, all of him trembling.

(from [here](http://wesuckandlovedick.tumblr.com/post/37029206382))

 

He doesn’t know what to do.

He didn’t go see him once they brought him back from the surgery; others formed a line, a queue that seemed to move like an impatient organism of too many limbs and not enough form, a liquid ameba of sorts, but before anyone lunged forward, they all turned to him. As if he had any kind of dibs on Bradley, as if he _deserved_ to go there first. Colin shook his head and sat down, clutching a Styrofoam cup of now-cold coffee, letting them all go and look.

He was afraid. He knew what’s waiting behind those doors. An unmoving, sleeping person, deeply comatose, head half-shaven and heavily bandaged, a constellation of bruises everywhere. Colin knows he’d be a stargazer for life if any pattern of white dots in the night sky would come close to what Bradley is to him. He doesn’t want to squeeze that hand without it squeezing back. He doesn’t want those lips unmoving when he tells him a self-deprecating joke. He doesn’t want the stretch of silence between them because it’s never happened before.

He doesn’t want it to feel like goodbye.

Un uncontrolled sob wrenches out from somewhere deep within, quite possibly from that same awful place he denies carrying inside him, and Colin hides his face in his hands as everything he feels slams back into him with a terrifying force.

 

The fall wasn’t un-survivable at all, they said, and Bradley needs a bit of time to recuperate, to mend, for his brain to stop swelling and the healing process to begin. If- _when_ he wakes up. When. And if his functions work.

Colin wonders, briefly, what Bradley’s five most important functions are, and snorts through hot tears, mixing with water, as his brain supplies on its own-

 

_Sincerity . Misaligned teeth.  Buoyancy.  Heart.  Mine._

He can’t correct himself even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. He knows Bradley isn’t his, he knows he doesn’t hold any power over him, and yet the thought of having this proprietary pull over him stirs something delicious, however painful, inside Colin’s chest. It tugs at his heart, and for a moment he can’t help but be overwhelmed by the surge of emotions through him, a daydream of sorts that plays out on the opposite wall of the bathtub, not even the small and many tiles distorting the image.

Bradley’s sitting there, beaming, his eyes dancing as he splashes Colin with water. He lets out a delighted cackle of mischief as Colin nearly snorts down some water, his skin glistening with little droplets that haven’t yet travelled south. Colin watches, mesmerized, as Bradley’s wide grin becomes an indulgent, playful smirk, as he reaches over and pulls Colin’s leg into his lap, slowly massaging his foot and then bending down and placing a kiss just above his wet ankle.

 

 

 

As the scene fades Colin wills himself to breathe again, and as he spends the night awake, tossing and turning in his bed, his sole thought throughout the wee hours of darkness is-

_Please_.

 

 

_**day two** _

 

 

The girls bring him breakfast in the late morning, and he ignores the knocking until Tony threatens to bring down the door, so he lets them in.

They stay until he swallows down every last bit of toast and try to coax him into coming to the hospital with them. He can feel Katie’s impatience when she tries with _Don’t you want to see him_ , and can tell Angel doesn’t quite get it yet when she says _We know you care for him_ , because clearly _care_ doesn’t cover his emotions at all, even if he’s been a little unfair. He doesn’t care about unfairness, though. Acknowledging he _cares_ for Bradley would be an understatement of the year, so he just stares at her until Tony steps between them and lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. When he opens his mouth, Richard seamlessly and almost wordlessly shoos others out, Tony included, and nods at Colin.

“You’ll have to go eventually.”

 

There it is. The admission. The factual comment, but not one given unkindly. There's a  _I-know-he’s-everything-to-you-but-you’re-only-hurting-yourself-this-way_ in the all too-knowing rise of his foreboding eyebrow.

Colin tries to make his throat work, but he only croaks something out in response, misuse and too many tears way too apparent.

“I know.”

 

He waits for them to leave, and then manages to wander down to the lobby, his legs like jelly and his mind like-wise, operating on the last dregs of consciousness burning out in his sleep-deprived state, as he stares down the staff until they hand him over the key of his neighbouring room.

He’s mentally preparing for the onslaught of everything _Bradley_ as he enters the room, but he’s still not ready to take all of it in at once. The mess of things is exactly what Bradley is like – he’s an organized chaos, he’s a purpose in a one-quid store, he’s the only set of free  Xmas lights that actually work. He’s Colin’s needle in a haystack, and he wonders, idly, how far beyond irretrievable all this is, if he’s having a silent freak-out over a random heap of Bradley’s clothes.

He doesn’t idly wander around the room, or pathetically touch everything he can get his hands on, no. Even though he wants to. He knows why he’s here, and his body does, too, if his hippo-like yawn is anything to go by. He shamelessly crosses those few feet that are standing between him and a nest of unmade blankets, and _dives_. The unmistakable musky and sweet smell of Bradley’s skin and hair envelops him, and he’d feel a little bit like a creep, but he doesn’t have time to, because exhaustion seeps in, bone-deep, and he clutches the pillow to himself as he finally nods off.

 

He’s not sure what wakes him up, but then he hears familiar voices in the hall by his room, and is glad for the cover of his hiding place. He feels safe, in an odd sense of the word, and lies there quietly, waiting for his co-stars to think he’s gone out as to why his room is empty. He swipes his hand over his face, wanting to still be under the pretence of sleep and the refuge it provides with the new reality of dreams – in dreams no one is unloved, no one is hurt or lying somewhere in a hospital; in dreams Bradley is there with him, under the covers, warm and pliant and _loving_ him, holding him close and nuzzling his neck and Colin is ready to give this solid, cold grey reality up for a few hours more, when something buzzes on the nightstand.

He freezes, and then realizes it’s not _his_ phone that’s going off. He’s wide awake in an instant, a flurry of moving limbs the next, and then he falls back into the soft covers, holding onto Bradley’s phone.

The screen is still alight with a new text message and Colin thumbs at it before he has any time to feel guilty for it. It’s from one of Bradley’s friends, a bloke Colin’s met a few times but doesn’t know all that much about because when he and Bradley hang out together on their own, it’s, most curiously, never about other people but _them_. A fresh, raw ache spreads throughout Colin’s chest at the thought they could be watching a film right now on Bradley’s laptop or something, if it wasn’t for the accident.

The text contains one line only, one that Colin doesn’t really understand and suddenly isn’t sure he wants to, as he exits the _Any luck yet?_ and finds himself in Bradley’s text message inbox. This could be either really bad, or really _really_ bad and Colin wonders how much of a masochistic dick he is if he entertains the idea of wanting to read Bradley’s messages.   
The _worst_ kind, is apparently the answer, as he scrolls down-

and then pauses.

 

Colin >  
Colin >  
Colin >  
Colin >  
Colin >  
Colin >

 

He scrolls down some more and the situation looks the same, it’s pretty much just his own texts gathering dust in Bradley’s inbox, and he doesn’t know whether that’s because he’s the only one sending Bradley messages, or is Bradley being a big, lovely dork and deletes all the messages but the ones he likes the most, like some fifteen year old girl with a crush, and the thought of this unlikely event warms Colin up from head to toe.

He can’t help it, and clicks through all of them, and doesn’t realize he’s smiling like a loon until his face hurts and he frowns at this newly-developed pain in his cheeks. The texts took him back in time to all these events, and he misses the odd bickering so much it’s hard to breathe. It’s only been a day and a half of silence in his life and he already feels bereft.

 

 _From: Colin (april 4, 20:15)_  
  
thank you x

 _From: Colin (april 4, 20:22)_  
  
for being you

 

_From: Colin (march 15, 17:35)_

are you okay?

_From: Colin (march 15, 17:50)_

Bradley talk to me or I’m coming over

_From: Colin (march 15, 17:55)_

you don’t want me to come over

_From: Colin (march 15, 18:04)_

because I’ll wear an orange skirt and white leg warmers and dress you up the same and drag you out in public

 _From: Colin (march 15, 18:10)_  
  
no you wouldn’t like that shut up xD

 

_From: Colin (march 2, 13:07)_

no, I am most certainly not making ‘cabbage with tofu’ you ignorant vegan-hating pleb

_From: Colin (march 2, 13:15)_

I called you a pleb because that’s what you are :P

 _From: Colin (march 2, 13:22)_  
  
not telling you,  it’ll just be an excuse – as if you ever need any – for you to mock me :D

 _From: Colin (march 2, 13:29)_  
  
come over and see what I’m making then

_From: Colin (march 2, 13:37)_

oh, you're serious? um, you have an hour.

 

The texts preserved are actually quite far apart and Colin knows they’ve been talking via messaging in between as well, but he can’t figure out why Bradley would delete the rest and save these among others of his. The outbox is empty, but the _Saved messages_ folder shows _(2)_ so he taps the screen with interest.

 

 _From: Colin(march 12, 19:01)_  
  
I can’t, sorry

 _From: Colin (march 12, 19:11)_  
  
err, I have a date

 

 

Something clenches in his stomach, and he knows it’s more than just the hunger eating away at him. He remembers this night, god he does because he went and did something that rarely happens – he may be a professional at lying to himself, but he doesn’t act _against_ his emotions, no matter how much he wants them to go away and let him have a normal life. A bloke, half-decent and with his head in the sand, clearly having no idea who Colin was, asked him out, and Colin, damn himself, said yes. He needed a distraction, a touch of someone else, a _real_ touch, because the phantom touch of Bradley on his skin didn’t quite cut it anymore, and Colin _needed_ -

So he said yes, and right after he stepped out of the shower, Bradley texted him if Colin wants to come over and- wait, he knows the conversation by heart, he’s not fooling anyone here, is he?

 

 _From: Bradley (march 12, 18:26)_  
  
colinnnn, I bought lettuce  
  
 _From: Colin (march 12, 18:30)_  
  
what, do you want a medal now or

 _From: Bradley (march 12, 18:32)_  
  
it’s GREEN

 _From: Colin (march 12, 18:34)_  
  
that’s its natural state, yes

 _From: Bradley (march 12, 18:37)_  
  
how many times have you seen me buy grosseries

 _From: Colin (march 12, 18:40)_  
  
bradley

 _From: Bradley (march 12, 18:42)_  
  
yes?

 _From: Colin (march 12, 18:44)_  
  
did you mean groceries

 _From: Bradley (march 12, 18:50)_  
  
no, groceries is milk and meat and deodorant.  
grosseries is your cabbage shite and the other green stuff because gross

 _From: Colin (march 12, 18:53)_  
  
whatever am I going to do with you

 _From: Bradley (march 12, 18:56)_  
  
come over and show me the proper usage of lettuce?

 _From: Colin (march 12, 19:01)_  
  
I can’t, I’m sorry

 _From: Bradley(march 12, 19:04)_  
  
why not?

 _From: Colin(march 12, 19:11)_  
  
err, I have a date

 _From: Bradley(march 12, 19:20)_  
  
oh

 

Colin remembers it because it made him feel awful, turning Bradley down. Figures he would want to hang out on the one eve Colin actually has plans, and it’s made him so upset he literally got himself and his date drunk, and then fucked him bent over the couch, nearly covering him with throw pillows so he could pretend and make-believe and-

He scrubbed himself raw, coming home, disgusted with himself for feeling like he just _cheated_ on Bradley and not finding it in him to explain to himself this is actually _not_ the case, and fighting a weird sudden urge to find Bradley and explain to him it didn’t mean anything, that Colin didn’t want it, Colin didn’t want _him_ , that bloke whose name has already escaped him, Colin only wanted Bradley, and the strained air and crackling energy between them for the next few days was so bad it was actually slowing down the filming process somewhat.

Colin wondered why the hell would Bradley have those two messages saved in a separate folder, knowing he himself would done something so drastic only to remind himself of what is off-limits, to not be touched, to be looked at in a fit of self-torture. Surely _Bradley_ – cocksure and wonderful and popular Bradley - couldn’t be doing something like this? With _Colin’s_ texts no less? A prickle of _something_ crawled all over his back as endless possibilities entered his brain again, and he shut them out, all of them, because this wasn’t the time to build up any kind of hope, he couldn’t be this level of selfish, could he? There is no way he could harbour the thoughts of this nature when all he should be wanting is for Bradley to wake up, to wake up undamaged even if they never speak again because Bradley _alive_ , regardless of whom he’d be with, is what’s most important to Colin.

Which was all well and true, except for the tiny part in his brain that never gave up on chirping the hopeful little sounds, especially when Bradley’s touch lingered, or when they laughed like mad and still managed to maintain eye-contact, their eyes dancing with mirth in a waltz of happiness. Colin rubbed at his chest, at his heart beating wildly now, missing Bradley, missing Bradley so much; it wasn’t the span of 30 hours without him that was causing this – they’ve been apart without contact for much longer than this before – no, it was the fall, the scare and fright, facing the fear and realizing that the others, or most of them anyway, _know_ , and they’re still there, the death sentence looming overhead despite encouraging words and Colin could best it all, he could kick and fight, but he couldn’t do it if Bradley wasn’t there too. He needed him and words escaped him how _much_ he needed him.

 

Exiting the folder and scrolling down, almost afraid to, now, but drawn to it like a moth to flame – and the comparison felt terribly inadequate suddenly, honestly, because it felt more like he was drawn to it like the gravitational pull of a rock that inevitably falls down with a splat – he faced the final folder.

_Drafts (1)_

He tapped it open.

 

 

 

_From: Bradley (march 12, 19:25)  
_  
don’t go

 

Once Colin connects the dates in his head he has a breathing-fit, a near heart attack, and an almost-deadly fumble with Bradley’s sheets. When he manages to free himself the whole _Tangled_ (a rather uneventful sequel) is no more a problem, but that’s more he can say about his breathing or well-being in general.

He’s not sure what he’s just seen because the one person who could explain is not there, but it doesn’t stop him from a lovely little hyperventilation experience, his chest hurting with something inexplicable, something huge, and it wasn’t the first time that the feeling of being too big for his own skin and wanting to claw the fuck out of his body was an emotion he was experiencing in regards to something _Bradley_ said or did. His hands shook and he stumbled out to the hallway, feeling lost and found both at once, clutching at the phone and at his chest. He nearly fell through the door to Tony’s room, which has become like the cast’s living room of sorts, and froze when four pair of eyes blinked in shock at him.

He hears exclamations of his name, and isn’t sure who exactly uttered them, he just- he just needed-

“I need Bradley.”

 

As soon as the admission left his mouth, he felt arms pulling him in – again, not sure which person they were attached to – as he sobbed out, in a voice that strangely carried over all of their cooing or murmuring or gentle pats,

“Someone take me to him.”

 

It took more than a few minutes for him to calm down enough to realize they were telling him it’s too late, that the visiting hours for the day were over, that nobody would let him in, and he wanted to flail and kick and shout that they _would_ , they really would, he’d go there, and _explain_ ; he would tell them he needs to see Bradley, he has to, because Colin has too many things unsaid in his mind and in his heart to let this opportunity pass, and if he tells them this is about love they surely wouldn’t stand in their way, he was so _sure_ of it-

He came to an abrupt halt when he realized he’s said it out loud, _all_ of it, his eyes glazed over and his hands waving in a frantic rhythm as the room fell silent, and he stared, chest-heaving and a little bit mortified, but then he saw the understanding faces, all of them, and thought with grim satisfaction, _Who **cares** about whom now_, and collapsed in a nearby chair, all fight leaving him. He laughed, and paused momentarily, surprised at the sound, and then laughed again. The others probably thought he’s lost all his marbles, and Colin loved them, he did, he loved them dearly in various amounts because you can’t love everybody the same way, and the number one place had long been spoken for by no other than sweet, idiotic Bradley. Colin folded in on himself, little giggles wrecking his body because wouldn’t it be _something_ if he completely misinterpreted what was going on here? He had no solid proof or logical hunch at all, it was just a couple of phone texts, nothing significant, but he felt like bursting at the seams, like an over-stuffed piñata except there was no candy inside, just too many emotions scrambling all over one another and there was no stick in sight to put him out of his misery.

The physical ache for Bradley became almost too much in that moment, and suddenly, Colin didn’t want to be in the vicinity of the people who had seen Bradley twice since the accident, which was twice more than _him_ and he didn’t forget he _chose_ not to see him, he didn’t, he wasn’t being an insufferable dick, but the fact stood and Colin realized he envied them. He envied them so much he had to get away, because now that he’s finally overcome his fear of seeing a comatose, motionless Bradley, he couldn’t go and do it because of a restriction _outside_ his head, and how does that even work?

Colin is used to putting up fences in his own mind, to hammer _Stop_ signs into the grounds of his thought crossroads, to deny himself what he wants – he’s always been a cockblock, or an _everything_ -block, really, on his own, either believing certain whims weren’t good for him, or that he wasn’t worthy, undeserving whatever it was he wanted, and he was also used to the development that when he finally _forgave_ himself for wanting something, that he was able to go and get it because the only thing holding him back was he himself. Now it was stupid hours and policies and propriety, and he deemed it laughably ironic that this happened with his biggest, most profound revelation of them all.

He wiped at his eyes, not sure whether he cried from laughing or from loving too hard, and informed them he’ll go and see Bradley in the morning, then, fending off their protests of him retreating with just a wave of his hand. He felt very powerful, suddenly – like Merlin, and he knew this was a feeling he could definitely use while portraying him because sometimes the rush that comes from feeling so utterly helpless is stronger than any kind of adrenaline vertigo.

 

 

 

He climbs back into Bradley’s bed, and huddles for warmth there, willing Bradley to _hang on_ , as he patiently waits for the morning.

 

 

_**day three** _

 

 

Once the morning breaks he’s a little less patient in his eagerness,  still feeling deep within that going to see Bradley is the right thing to do, no matter how much he dreads the stillness of his hands and lips, or the silence that will inevitably spread in the space between them. His revelation rush has worn down during the night, doubt creeping back in and he’s not sure what exactly it was that lifted him the previous evening. He only knows he wants that feeling _back_ , and at least he’s sane enough in all his urgency to know that this means seeing  _Bradley_ , for whatever outcome, so he trips and hops around the room as he gets ready. When he stares at Bradley’s wardrobe he capitulates but tries not to feel guilty because surely lesser men would defy the pull of Bradley’s clothes for way shorter an amount of time, and when he dons  first a T shirt, and then one of Bradley’s hoodies, he feels safe again, just like he did when sleeping in his bed.

A small, traitorous thought resurfaces then, reminding him Bradley’s fate is still pretty much unknown, and Colin’s listened to enough accident reports in his life to know that head trauma can be quite bad, but he’s also read for sure that a lot of people are fine after they recover and rehabilitate, and damn it why wouldn’t this be Bradley because he’s strong, and healthy, and he’s buying _lettuce_ for himself and- oh god, the _texts_.

 

 

Colin pockets both phones and leaves in a haste, done pretending he’s a picture of calm.

 

When he stumbles into the hospital, he's greated with a familiar, but unexpected sight. Bradley's mother is already there, and resembles her son just as she always does - except that now, she's also pale and sad-looking, sitting by herself in the waiting area, nervously folding and unfolding a magazine in her lap that he can tell she never really opened to read.

He walks up to her, not really knowing what he'll say, but she spots him, and stands up with a watery smile, and before he knows it they're clutching at each other in a grip that goes beyond the _I'm just some guy and you're just somebody's mum_ social conventions. She's not just anybody's mum, she's Bradley's mum, which makes Colin love her by default. Nevermind how she's always happy to see him too.

"Did you see him yet?"

"Just now, dear."

"Is anybody else with him?"

"He's alone right now."

"I -"

"You should go to him, Colin."

 

He watches her, and suddenly feels a little bit exasperated, and a lot inadequate, remembering how apparently mothers always _know_ , and has probably seen through all his pretending and endless facade of _no I'm most certainly not completely in love with your son_ , but then she takes his hand, and nods, and does that inexplicable thing mothers do, the warmth and kind words all rolled up into one and you suddenly feel you could move mountains if you choose to.

"He'd be happy to have you there."

 

 

Finally seeing Bradley wasn’t as bad as Colin anticipated.

 

It was worse.

Yes, there was the whole pale-as-the-sheets-he-lay-on thing, and the stillness of him, but what robbed Colin of his breath was how _small_ he looked. How fragile. Gone was the air of a bouncy, excitable personality, of his brilliant smile, the boyish demeanour and the cocksure easiness Bradley so readily oozed, like someone _privileged_ – and by all means this shouldn’t be a package that would make someone appealing, but with Bradley it worked, somehow it all slid together so well as if there was literally no other way in which he could exist, and Colin fell like a house of cards, like a line of dominos, like spare change you chuck into a fountain and hope for the best.

It wasn’t the type he usually fell over for, and he wasn’t necessarily proud of it at first, but then the blasted feeling grew in him, it grew into something ridiculous until he realized he’s been utterly ruined for everyone else – and now that he’s seen Bradley only as a shell without his impossible, obnoxiously endearing ways, Colin hurt deep within. This wasn’t right. Nobody took Bradley’s colours away and lived to tell the tale.

Having no culprit in this was the worst, having no one Colin could blame, the energy rolling around inside him with nowhere to go. It was what finally pushed him forward, away from the door he was half-leaning on, needing support. His eagerness to get here as soon as possible was quelled somewhat, and as he sat down on the chair next to the bed, he silently admitted to himself he expected a miracle. He constructed a movie-scene in his head, worthy of a Hollywood blockbuster, of two lovers being reunited, their affection so strong it woke the comatose one up and they threw themselves at each other, both beautiful and undamaged and happy while the hospital staff brought in a priest to marry them.

 

Colin’s life wasn’t a Hollywood blockbuster. It never _had_ been. For starters, his imaginary director’s endeavours didn’t hold any water from the very beginning – they weren’t even lovers, save anything else he lined up for them. There was just a whole lot of longing and despair on his side, and a vague shape of hope beckoning at him from the other. This shadow of perhaps requited longing was another thing that gave him a desperate push.

 

He croaked.

“Bradley.”

 

Nothing.

See, Hollywood? It doesn’t happen like this. Stop lying to people.

 

His hand jerked in his lap, an automatic response to nothing in particular as always when he got the urge to grasp at Bradley’s hand – which usually didn’t look like an unmoving piece of pale marble exhibit piece, resting over the covers as if it's going to be put up to be auctioned for big sums of money. For a few long, unbearable moments he couldn’t decide what to do, repeating the little stuttering move of forward-backward until the nerves got the best of him and he reached over and _squeezed_.

 

“Damn it, Bradley.”

He shuffled restlessly.

 

“If you didn’t want me to go on that date, why didn’t you just say so?”

He didn’t really expect an answer, and he didn’t get one either.

 

“I don’t like monologues if I could chat with you instead, you know?

They say people in a coma can hear whatever you’re telling them. I’m not sure what I believe, but I’m pretty certain it isn’t true in your case. You don’t listen half the time when you’re _awake_ , so why would you now?”

 

He pipes down, realizing he’s not feeling much like ribbing Bradley if Bradley can’t get him back with a mocking remark like he usually does.

 

“In case I’m completely wrong, and you just asked yourself in your head in that absolutely dumb and completely endearing, confused way, what I’m on about-

If you had been paying attention you’d see so much I’ve been hiding. Or, _trying_ to hide because apparently most of the people knew anyway and I’ve been dumb but guess who’s _also_ been dumb?

 

You. You with your everything and I’m sorry if you’re mortified right now but it’s completely your fault. I’m certainly not taking any blame in this.”

 

Colin snorts, actually feeling amused, because he’s only telling the truth. God knows how he’d go about this if Bradley was awake – he probably wouldn’t be going about it _at all_ , actually, and he can’t believe he’s blaming a comatose person for all this. For being in _love_ with them.

“I love you,” he blurts out.

 

And covers his mouth with his other hand because of _course_ a nurse finds exactly that moment to come in. He stares at her, mortified, as she squeaks and leaves the room, clumsily closing the door behind her in haste. Colin drops his head and faceplants into the covers next to where their joined hands are.

 

“ _Wonderful_.”

 

He murmurs more to himself than to anyone else in particular, and then realizes he should be considerate, and turns his head to the side to sound less muffled.

“Did you see that? No, of course you  didn’t. This is just my luck, isn’t it? I tell you how I feel and now it’s gonna be all over the front pages by tomorrow.”

He sighs.

 

“I did mean it though. I bloody love you and there’s nothing I can do about it. And believe me I’ve _tried_. But, no, of course I wouldn’t have a stupid change of heart, not about _you_ , anyway, and now I’m stuck in this daft place for all eternity, and the only comfort I’m taking from all this is knowing we’re so incompatible we would never get anything done.

But-

but then I remember how I feel when I’m with you. You give one of your high-pitched squeaks before you throw your head back and laugh and my knees do something stupid. It’s the same when I have one whiskey-cola too many. Or when you go all serious about your role and would put even a nerdy guy like me to shame with your extensive research. You’ve called _me_ a professor, when you don’t realize how intelligent you are yourself, hiding behind your confidence that is based on your _looks_. And you remember everything. It was a daft, passing remark of mine to make us wear orange skirts and white leg warmers. I didn’t actually expect you to FedEx me a pair with an included message of _Our next year's Halloween costumes_. You silly thing. As if I’d wear skirts in public. I’m not _you_.”

 

He chuckles, his vision momentarily filled up with mental images of photos of a younger Bradley, dressed up as a girl at some party.

“Although red lipstick really suits you.”

 

He grins as he looks up, and sobers  when Bradley doesn’t return his smile. Right.

“Just in case you were wondering what were specific things I love about you.”

 

When a heavy, sterile-smelling silence lays all over the room, and everything feels sort of timeless and ominous, Colin panics a bit.

“I can tell you more?

Of what I love. About you.”

 

He looks down at their intertwined fingers and wriggles his a little.

“You know you’re not making this easy, you asshole.”

 

It’s certainly an admission of love he’ll be telling his grandchildren about. Grandchildren he wants with _Bradley_.

He doesn’t tell him that. That’s something he’d want to leave for a time they both actually remember.

 

“You know, I’ve just decided. You _are_ waking up because there’s no chance in hell I’m not making you do this back to me once you’re all healed-up and properly eloquent again.

So if you’re not sure just yet- I have more. I have _plenty_ more, but I’m gonna leave some of it for later because I hope you blush like mad when I tell you all about the beauty of  your back and your legs and your lips. What I can say, though, is that you _entrance_ me, you absolute muppet, you entrance me like no other before you and I know I’m really going to town with all this now but damn it, Bradley, I miss you, and this- this being awake, going about, doing stuff _without_ you is no fun at all. I don’t want it. So just think about it, please.”

 

He’s so close he only needs to pull his hand to him a little to place a soft, brushing kiss over Bradley’s knuckles. He rather likes this position. He’s getting drowsy again, emotionally tired in his sleep deprivation of the past three days, and he suspects the whole _Bradley_ -deprivation is the worst of all of his exertions. He doesn’t care if others have arrived by now for their daily visit. They can wait a bit longer, because he’s _busy_.

Colin doesn’t know when he dozes off, the strain taking its toll and pulling him under blissful blanket of sleep. He never lets go of Bradley’s hand, not even when there’s a soft knock on the door when the nurse from before comes in to check what’s taking so long. He doesn’t stir when she checks Bradley’s vital signs and retreats with a small smile, nor does he hear Katie and Richard poke their heads in to see the sight for themselves.

He does wake up to something else, however.

 

Or something he’d _like_ to, anyway.

Sometimes, when he allows himself to fantasize without any repercussions, his mind always took him to lazy Sunday mornings and the life he could have if things were slightly different -– he saw pale, yellow light of the dawn and long, warm limbs wrapped around him; he saw rumpled sheets from the night before and the discarded clothes on the floor that splayed out in oddly abstract shapes. Sometimes it looked like they spelled _love_. There were sleepy murmurs of first _hellos_ of the day, and soft touches with which they coaxed each other into awareness – first of the surroundings and then of each other, and their needy mouths glued together, continuing where they left off in the wee hours of the night. It was a sight he perfected throughout the years, adding details here and there, taking away what was totally redundant for this little day dream of his.

He felt fingers slightly stroking his hair, the longer ones that fell on his forehead. One version of his fantasy mornings definitely started like this. He smiled faintly and kept the pretence going behind closed eyes, enjoying the soft touch that- _ow_. Okay, so Bradley was sometimes a bit insistent, he’s dreamed of that too, yes. As he felt another tug on his fringe, he grimaced. _Gentle_ mornings, he’d said. No need for the indulgence to change now.  
When there was an actual poke following, right into his eye, Colin let out an agitated noise, and lifted his head.

 

“Whas-“

“ _F’nally_.”

 

Colin stares, dumbstruck. If this is a dream, it isn’t a funny one, it really isn’t because what he’s looking at is kind of unreal. He can’t have _this_ in his fantasy world and then wake up to the unsure, harsh reality of bitterness and doubt. Bradley, still as pale as the sheets, and unmoving, but very much awake is looking back at him, his eyes slightly bloodshot but not as hazy as he’d expected them to be. The silence grows as Colin keeps staring, and it isn’t until Bradley slowly smacks his lips – which could be because they might be dry but Colin _knows_ him, this is annoyance if he’s ever seen it – that he’s shaken out of this stupor, because that is such a Bradley thing to do, and Colin barks out a laugh that surprises them both.

Bradley winces, and then he winces again because of the first wince, and closes his eyes.

“ _Jesus_ , Cols. Not s’loud.”

 

It’s no more than a whispered rasp, but right then and there, Colin could swear he’s never heard anything more beautiful in his life. He feels a little ridiculous, and a whole lot confused, actually, as he keeps looking on, his cheeks aching as his mouth spreads in a silent grin. There has to be a deranged quality to his face right now, and he hopes he doesn’t scare Bradley back into unconsciousness, but there’s just no stopping the _beaming_.

When Bradley peers at him again through his lashes, his eyes seem a tad clearer, and an infinitesimal smirk tugs at a corner of his lips.

“Good to see you _too_.”

 

Colin leans forward, unblinking, thinking he pretty much resembles Bambi right now (a wide-eyed scared fawn isn’t the look he’d normally go for around Bradley but it’s not as if this is of his choosing, really), and finds Bradley’s hand again.

“You shouldn’t speak.”

“Why.”

“You were in a coma, you pleb.”

“Be nice t’me, or I’ll go back to sleep.”

 

Colin would probably be freaking out right now if they weren’t actually grinning at each other like loons, or like a pair of very _special_ deer, like special in the head, and for a moment he gets that stupid _he’s Faline to my Bambi_ idea, when the panic seeps in that he should probably call somebody before Bradley dies on him without proper treatment, or something.

“The nurse. I should get the nur-“

“Colin.”

“What.”

“Not yet.”

“But you-“

“ _Colin_.”

 

Colin bites his lip and looks on as Bradley faintly squeezes his hand. The lack of strength is more painful than any violent grip would be, but he brushes that away and just nods. Bradley lifts his other hand, and with a slight circling movement, like that of a traffic controller, but not quite, beckons him.

“Get. Here.”

“What?”

“Up. Up here, now.”

 

Colin lets out another disbelieving chuckle before he remembers Bradley must have a killer headache, and pipes down immediately. The fact that Bradley wants him to get on the bed makes him wondering again if this really isn’t just another Bradley-dream gone slightly wrong, or- really _right_ , actually, when he thinks _fuck it_ and swiftly swings himself up. The bed isn’t exactly big enough for two, and thank fuck he’s  kind of skinny – as he settles down on his side and looks at Bradley.

“You really should have someone examine you right now.”

“In a minute.”

“Okay. But I’m counting down, just so you know.”

“If I’d known you’re such a mother hen I’d stay asleep.”

“You don’t mean that.”

 

Bradley opens his mouth and closes it, and smiles. “I don’t.”

 

“Good. Because I was going _mad_.”

“How long?”

“Three days.”

“Wow. Only?”

“ _Only_?”

“I figured it has to be more – that you ran out of your clothes and started wearing mine.”

 

Colin gapes at him, and looks down at himself. Crap. He kind of forgot about that. He’d love to stay in the cave of absolute coyness, if their minute wasn’t nearly up, and he reminds himself he was a lot braver with his words and confessions when Bradley was still asleep, so he makes himself look back up again. Bradley’s head is still resting on the pillow, but he’s smiling warmly, and despite his tired features there’s a new sort of quality about him. He looks _alive_ , Colin realizes, and that alone is enough to fill him up with something unnameable, because it’s not quite electricity, or energy, or happiness, or even relief or elation. It’s bigger than all of that, and he exhales shakily on another grin, and dips his head down until their noses brush in a sweet, barely-there touch.

“I was so scared,” he whispers into the air between them.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have to be more careful, Bradley, I can’t have you falling off walls-“

“Colin.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think we could have a lecture about  my recklessness _later_ because you threatened with a countdown, and.”

“Oh.”

“And I know I must have foul breath after like four days and I swear I’ll brush like mad when I’m better , but-“

 

Colin grins, not sure if Bradley can see him, but in the next moment he’s sure Bradley can _feel_ him, as he presses a soft, but a pretty desperate kiss to his mouth all the same. It’s warm and dry, but Colin still trembles, the past three days washing over him and he realizes he’s more tired than he had thought. He knows the recovery is going to take a long time, postponing the filming for a few months at the very least, but Bradley’s first thoughts upon waking up were about fresh breath so they can kiss like stupid when there’s time and he’s strong enough, and Colin finds it impossible to keep the kiss going as he laughs again, happily.

 

“What?”

“You were babbling about _brushing your teeth_.”

 

Bradley has the decency to look a little less pale around his cheeks, which is probably all the blushing Colin’s going to get for now, but it still takes his breath away.

 

“So what, _you_ were babbling away at me when I was asleep.”

Colin was just in the process of pressing his lips to Bradley’s again as he hums in agreement, and then stills completely as the meaning of the words sinks in.

“Wait, _what_?”

 

“I don’t know, you don’t make any sense when you babble, something about red lipstick-“

A choked moan of disbelief rips out of Colin as he sits back so fast  his head nearly spins, and he scrubs a hand over his face as he laughs. _Again_. Surely someone must have heard him by now?

“I have to call Hollywood.”

 

He feels so light he’s glad Bradley is still holding his hand, or he might float away.

“ _Hollywood_?”

The hand pulls out of his, then, and Bradley touches his cheek, looking concerned in his colourlessness, and Colin cups his hand over Bradley’s.

 

“I really have to call the nurse.”

Bradley smiles at him drowsily, and gently touches his thumb to Colin’s lips.

“Okay,” he rasps, and then a glint of mischief shines through his hazy eyes.

 

“Make sure she looks at your head _too_.”


End file.
